


Appreciative acts

by faithfullyhabibti (quietlyhabibti)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:52:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietlyhabibti/pseuds/faithfullyhabibti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from hobbit_kink at LJ:<br/>Kili loves Fili because he is his caring elder brother.<br/>Kili loves Thorin because he is his majestic uncle.<br/>Kili loves Dwalin because he is heroic mentor.<br/>Kili loves Bofur because he is his super funny friend.<br/>Fili, Thorin, Dwalin and Bofur all love Kili because he is their pretty little thing. And Kili is eager to please all of them.<br/>slutty&bottom!Kili all the way</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lion brother

_Fili really is a golden child_ , his brother muses as they chuckle and shush one another in their hiding space. His hair shines even amongst the hay that tickles their noses and its like the few pieces of gold their family managed to take - probably wore as they made haste - from Erebor. His eyes gleam mischievously while they play but they are tangled now, limbs and bodies pressed flush as to avoid their pursuers, and there's another expression dancing within wide pupils.

"Kee, what are you doing?" he sounds stern and Kili is drawn back to their situation. That's when he notices that his hand is resting on Fili's stomach, just under his soot-stained shirt and dangerously close to the top of his breeches. His fingers are digging in slightly and the wispy hairs beneath them tickle but there's no laughing.

He can't offer an excuse or explanation before Fili is grabbing his wrist, holding it between calloused fingers, neither moving any further. There's a war in his older brother's eyes, hormones competing with sensibility, and morality. It's his brother he's desperate to press against, not some woman in the back of the nearest tavern, and it's his brother he'll have to look at when it's all over but oh does he want it. Secretly, he frowns, he has wanted it for some time. Kili is soft and smaller but his ferocity makes him appealing.

And Fili sees the reciprocation in dark brown eyes. What he doesn't see is that those same desires have been on since Kili reached puberty. His brother, always at his side with a strong arm and tender smile, was beautiful to him, was what a mate should be. Not those women in the taverns with false smiles and mocking eyes.

So when Kili curls his fingers onto the hem of his brother's breeches, there is no resistance. Eye contact never broken, he pulls down slowly, rubbing his palm along Fili's groin, until he is exposed within the confines of their haystack.

"Kili," the older dwarf starts, but, young and reckless as ever, Kili presses up against him, all teeth in what should be a kiss. Thoughts pour in and resistance begins to wane, giving way to arousal as Kili's fingers brush over his cock, teasing little touches that drag a soft groan out of his throat. Fili lays down and rests his hands on Kili's hips. Each touch seems foreign now, in this new context, and his skin feels like fire.

They still as they hear someone pass by, talking loudly about the absence of the dwarf from the forge, but Kili catches his brother's mouth with another sloppy kiss, biting hard into his bottom lip and blood bubbles at the fresh wounds. Fili's fingernails scrape along sensitive sides in warning as he tastes meat pie, cheap ale and copper on his tongue.

"Careful, you," he growls, taking one hand into Kili's tangled hair. Hay pokes at his flesh as he wrenches his brother's head back, latching a mouth to the taut throat exposed to him. "Or you'll regret it." He bites down at that last remark and the way Kili whines is enough for him to know he's ready for this. He pushes his brother back, inching his shirt up as he does, and Kili wriggles beneath him, a cat-like grin spreading across his face.

Fili doesn't take it slow, he's too full of want, and leads his brother's actions, guides his hand into his underclothes, breath hitching at the sensation. Devious as he is, Kili only grins and lets his fingers dance along his erection, watching the way Fili's face contorts, before taking his free hand into his own breeches. It's batted away, though, and Fili takes its place, forceful but not unpleasant. In fact, Kili loves it and those nights where he pretended his own fist was this one never did it justice.

"Worked up, are you?" Fili asks breathlessly, mouth hovering over his opposite's, mustache tickling his reddened face. The haystack makes it feel like an inferno but soon clothes are being peeled off awkwardly in the cramped space and then it's sweat-slicked skin against more and the heat doesn't seem as unbearable as the heat in their bellies.

Precome helps out as well, Fili rubbing it around their cocks as he pumps lazily. He's enjoying the tortured sounds coming from his brother's throat, the way fire burns in his eyes every time he manages to open them and the way his mouth works around words he doesn't manage. There's a moan that takes Fili's breath away, though, and Kili's coming, spilling onto foreign fingers and his own stomach. Fili finishes soon after, pushed over by the absolutely sinful look his brother gives him, flushed and half-hooded with swollen lips that reel back to expose a diva of a pink tongue and he wants that on him but now it's too late. Next time, he faintly remembers thinking.

They stay like this for a while, slowing their breaths until they are almost normal, and dress hurriedly, before scrambling out one by one out of their hiding place. The orange sun stares across the horizon at them and the town's lights are being lit. "C'mon, let's head back home before we're missed," Fili says, lacing his breeches completely as they strut along the winding paths.


	2. Regal rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin's turn.

Thorin's past drunk at this point. He is dazed and most likely sick to his stomach, though much like he is sober, he is silent, brooding. His eyes scan the tavern's patrons, scrutinizing the laughing ones, on edge from the last bout with his sister. He is prince - maybe king although neither speaks of that day and those losses - and he has command over his people, few as they are. Blood bonds do not lessen that.

"Uncle," Kili says quietly as the mentioned takes another drink of ale he can no longer taste, "We should return home. Mother might worry." To be perfectly honest, he's drowsy from an extensive practice with his brother that afternoon but concern is also present. Just beneath layers of the desire to sleep for hours.

"Don't tell me what to do, boy," Thorin growls, unintentionally slamming a fist against the wooden table. He groans as eyes glance over at him and his kin but he fishes into his pocket for coin. "Fine, let us be off, then." They pay, tie their cloaks tightly, and step out into the harsh winter night.

Really, it's the wind that makes it harsh, the chilly nip that licks across their faces and whistles through their clothes, washing over what should be protected skin. Kili frowns. The good-natured sounds of the tavern have now been replaced with the crunch of snow beneath their boots and he can feel the tension and residual drunken anger radiate off of his uncle. 

The blow comes out of nowhere, a forearm pressed into his throat, and Kili is being pushed backwards until he's against a wall. He can hear Thorin and he's grasping out to grab hold and then a mouth clashes hard against his. His teeth jar together and there's a general discomfort in the kiss, an uneasiness that contends with the hot blush creeping along his neck. Thorin's beard tickles at his jaw but his mouth is unrelenting. Though he's strong, his hands are light as they rest against Kili's ribcage, almost hovering over him.

Kili doesn't know what compels him to do it but he takes his hands, trembling though they are, and twists them into his uncle's hair. Fingers dig in to his ribs but there is no protest, no resistance and the battle that was initiated by Thorin becomes a mutual... relief. They part momentarily and the older dwarf sighs before returning to that bruising mouth. He enjoys the pliancy beneath, the way that silver tongue that's quick to spin out lies is shy, darting out softly when the opportunities arise.

He grins, alcohol making it easy, because this feels nice. It feels like the warm dwarf woman he used to sneak to the back of dining hall and push against the wall, lifting away all those troublesome skirts and really, who needed those underclothes she wore in the heat of summer? Now, there is no dwarf woman with ruffled skirts, there is no grand dining hall; there is snow and a town of men.

And an eager, sex-driven dwarflad on his knees. He's grown into adulthood, though his beard has yet to show it - or show up - and the innocence that once danced in his eyes has been replaced with a wickedness that draws Thorin in. As hands reach for his groin, he becomes aware of the erection pressing forward, and when his breeches are being undone, he doesn't fight it.

Cold air bites at newly exposed skin but Kili isn't slow to replace the breeches with his hands. He strokes his uncle's cock almost reverently and a small smile cracks across his face as Thorin's breathing hitches and he lets a hiss pass through clenched teeth. A few shaky strokes later, Kili is grinning like he's won some great game and maintains a pace that only makes breathing harder. Thorin's hands find their way into wind-tangled hair, the smaller dwarf tensing at the action.

"S'alright," he murmurs, barely audible over the whistling gusts that carry soft flurries unto eyelashes hooding dilated pupils. Thorin holds in a sound quite unlike him as that same warm mouth he had only previously attacked wraps around the head of his cock. It's a shock to the system, the melting snowflakes and the moist heat of his nephew's tongue, and his cock gives a twitch as he rakes blunt fingernails across Kili's scalp, enjoying the hum that runs through to his core.

Kili begins to move forward, swallowing more length and moving his hands to his own groin. The icy touch isn't unwelcome - any touch is welcome - and Thorin revels in the way it feels as he gasps around him, cold air rushing over warmed flesh. Precome beads up, Kili tastes it, and he looks back up to the face he's known as regal since birth. When they were told stories of Mahal, he always pictured his uncle, strong and brutal but so kind. Even now, tenderness flickers in his eyes and it's so inviting. Kili bobs forward until he can't anymore, eyes watering slightly, before he pulls back.

_His tongue_ , Thorin thinks hazily, _is wasted on spinning tales_. He allows a groan as Kili begins to move back and forth at the same pace his hands were going before. It's sinful the way the corners of his mouth curl upward around his cock and he can't help it when he takes control, hands still threaded through snow-dampened hair, leading and quickening the pace. Six, seven, eight thrusts and he pulls Kili away, though the quiet pop doesn't help his restraint, and leans down to clash mouths again. He tastes musky sex on that tongue and a small battle is waged within the orifice that has Thorin smiling; he enjoys the feisty attitude.

The mewl the younger dwarf makes when Thorin rubs his hand down his front, not so tenderly, gives him cause to come right there. But the slightly shaky fingers around his cock do, as well, and Thorin has to bite down on his tongue to look at that flushed face in front of him, that swollen mouth that begs for more, those eyes that are blown wide and flutter too often. Kili falls to his knees, hand working his own cock as he takes Thorin's into his mouth.

Curses pass over tight lips and he feels himself on the brink of ecstasy. Thorin runs his thumbs along his nephew's cheekbones, feeling the muscles work beneath a soft layer of bristle, and he draws circles lazily. When teeth barely graze the sensitive skin of his cock, Thorin roars and there's a moment of swelling heat before he's coming, coming on Kili's hum, coming on the thought of home and its ladylike comforts.

Moments pass, Kili continuing to urge out what's left of his uncle's orgasm, and then he's being picked up, pushed against the wall, handled so roughly and urgently that he moans like those tavern wenches he dislikes so much.

"Quiet, lad, you're too noisy," Thorin murmurs against his neck, though his fingers quickly stroking that loud lad's cock contradicts his orders. And there's a bite at the dip behind his ear and Kili comes with a choked cry and hands gripping wildly at his uncle's cloak.

They rest there, pressed against one another, heaving chilled breaths, until Kili is holding his dozing uncle up.

"Uncle," he rasps, throat raw and aching, "we have to get home. Mother is waiting." He manages to tidy them both up, cleaning their clothes off with snow and patting down their hair with the remaining water. It's not perfect but he can blame the tavern for their disheveled states.


End file.
